


except the notches in the doorframe

by emullz



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Any content warnings will be in chapter notes, Irondad, Kidnapped Peter Parker, Minor Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Pre-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Sort of AU - don't know how to classify this haha
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:48:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29562132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emullz/pseuds/emullz
Summary: There was a feeling Peter had that always came up when he thought about his father, warmth and the grit of sand under his fingers and a voice full of humor chasing after him.  He closed his eyes and tried to bring it up, thinking maybe if he dove deep enough into it he could find something new in the clarity of the night air, but then there was a shout of “hey! Stop!” that had Peter pulling his mask back on and swinging off the rooftop, all thoughts of his parents left behind in the wind.(tony stark's son is kidnapped at the age of two. he's spent 14 years trying to find him. during those 14 years, peter parker has been living in new york, growing up, building lego sets, acing algebra tests. and recently this whole spiderman thing, which makes everything infinitely more complicated)
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 111
Kudos: 381
Collections: Irondad_and_Spideyson, Peter Parker Stark, peter finds his way home





	1. chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> this fic trope took up residence in my brain and simply would not leave until i wrote it all out. content warnings throughout this whole fic for mentions of kidnapping & some minor descriptions of violence (peter goes on patrol a few times). i'll update these notes with any additional warnings i think are necessary or if someone lets me know that i missed one! 
> 
> title from phoebe bridgers garden song stream if you want to hear a musical & lyrical masterpiece
> 
> (would like to mention inspiration/other writers who've done a fantastic job w this trope, namely hold him tight & don't let go by jessicagoddamnjones and Lost Boy by winterda)
> 
> also: updates should come on saturdays if i can stick to my schedule! so, you know. stay tuned

It felt good to be sixteen. Or at least Peter thought it would, once he got over the strange feeling that always accompanied his birthday. He kept it together fine on most holidays, or at least he tried to. May had her own traditions, and she did her best to bring in his parents’ too, so that he could feel connected to them. But his birthday was the day he thought the most about his birth parents. This day revolved around the physical act of bringing him into the world, and as much as he knew that day wasn’t what made a parent he was still curious.

The good thing about this birthday, though, was that he had a perfect distraction. Patrolling all night, making sure the city was as crime free as he could make it, that would be his birthday present. He wouldn’t tell himself to go to bed early, or beat himself up about missing some homework. He could swing around and web up bad guys until the itch inside him subsided, until he was so tired he fell into bed without dreaming, without even thinking. And tomorrow would just be a regular day, and all this agonizing would be over.

A shout startled Peter out of his swing and he yanked up on his web, catching himself of the side of a building. He hung there with one hand on the wall, his foot braced against a window to keep him steady, listening. It was only a few seconds before he heard footsteps, and someone yell “hey! Stop!” and Peter was moving again. He launched a short web at the next building so he could swing fast around the corner, tracking where the web’s radius would set him down so he could tangle up the source of the footsteps.

He landed perfectly, rolling forward and shooting two webs at the same time so the mugger’s legs tangled up. Feeling generous, Peter yanked sideways so he would be able to catch himself on his elbow when he fell. “Maybe you should invest in a treadmill,” he said as he jogged up. “You know, if you want to try running.”

The guy spat at him. Peter hopped away from it and cocked his head to the side like he was curious. “Go to hell.”

“You probably shouldn’t steal stuff, man, otherwise I might see you there,” Peter said brightly, and then he reached down and plucked the wallet out of his hand. “I’m going to return this now, but you have a great night.”

Peter walked away from the whole thing almost skipping. The guy whose wallet it was had been so nice, and Peter knew he’d looked cool. Taking the turn that fast, landing in that roll… see, he was already back to normal. Just a few more hours and he’d be ready for a nap before school, and he could tell Ned all about it.

* * *

Tony didn’t remember being sixteen. Oh, he was sure he could bring up some memory that happened around that age, maybe getting his first bachelor’s degree or doing something exceptionally stupid with whoever he was calling his friends at that point. But when he really thought about it, there wasn’t any defining feeling about that age in particular. Sixteen had just been another year spent trying to live up to expectations and falling short, every time.

But it didn’t matter. Every year he thought about the same thing, and every year he had to face the fact that there was no boy waiting for him at home so he could blow out his candles with his father. Tony hadn’t celebrated a birthday with his son in fourteen years.

Pepper, when she was in charge of his schedule, had always asked how he wanted the day. Should she fill it with appointments? Should she cancel everything? Even though he told her to keep his schedule exactly the same, that what would help him was normalcy, he knew she was moving things around and making it easier on him. The long, tedious tasks he usually dreaded would be large parts of his day. There would be no meetings with clients where he had to smile or put on a performance.

But now that she was the CEO (and far above making schedules) it really was just like any other day. It wasn’t exactly easy, but he was managing. Trying to, at least. Every day since Dominic was taken Tony put on a suit of armor, only years later to be replaced by his Mark I suit. He’d become well practiced at wearing around everyone, all the time, but on his son’s birthday it was just a little bit thinner.

He held it together until Rhodey came over for dinner and he could let the mask slide, just a little bit. There was chili Rhodey’s mom had made that Tony remembered from high school, and Pepper made sure he was eating the salad she’d had delivered because he never got enough vegetables. She’d never met Nico but she’d been there in the years after, knew about as much about him as Tony did, only getting to have him for two years.

“How are you?” she asked, voice gentle.

Tony decided he’d tell her the truth. He could go back to lying tomorrow. “I can’t help imagining him, you know? Sixteen. That’s big. I can’t remember what I was doing at sixteen, but it probably wasn’t anything good.”

Rhodey grimaced. “You were stealing Howard’s scotch and throwing up in your mother’s rosebushes, from what I remember.”

“I know the most likely outcome,” Tony pressed on, determined to be realistic. Or to protect himself from the image in his head of a sixteen-year-old son he didn’t really know. “But it’s like every year I have to remind myself that I’m not looking for a little boy anymore. I don’t even know who I’m looking for.”

“Remember how he used to talk to his stuffed animals before bed?” Rhodey asked. “That he’d protect them if they all got into any bad dreams? I’ll bet if he’s out there he’s still like that.”

It was easy to conjure up the image: round cheeks and curls smushed to one side from lying down while Tony read to him, his pajamas already askew. He would hold up each stuffed animal in turn, a different order every night so they didn’t feel like he was picking favorites, and make sure they knew he’d come get them out of any nightmare. His eyes, big and brown, would be drooping by the time he got to every toy, but he always finished before he fell asleep.

“Yeah,” Tony said, “I remember.” But try as he might, it hurt too much to think of that fierce protectiveness in a teenage Nico.

So he stopped trying, and let himself remember instead. Somehow, he thought as they brought up more things, how he would bargain to get out of bathtime or squeeze grape tomatoes so they popped all over Rhodey’s shirtfront, it was easier this way. Talking about Nico like he would be little forever, like no time had passed. Like he was still at home with the babysitter, waiting for Tony to get home from his business trip.

He wasn’t, of course, and with the end of dinner came that realization. So Tony did what he always did, and he made it through the night. Then he prepared to make it through the next day, and over and over until he found his son.


	2. chapter two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> peter goes to the library, tony tries to get clint to listen to anything he says. all with a healthy dose of angst and some love for may and MJ (as they deserve)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! no content warnings for this chapter i don't think, but as always let me know if there's something i should update for. kind of shocked i'm sticking to my saturday schedule but who doesn't love surprises? 
> 
> k enjoy the chapter<3

Peter refused to regret patrolling until 4am. He was exhausted, sure, and he’d almost fallen asleep during pre-calc which had made MJ pass him a vaguely insulting note, but there were no regrets. If he kept telling himself that, would it start to feel true?

Ever since he joined the Decathlon team and realized she only lived a few blocks from him, Peter and MJ would take the subway home so he could keep watch while she jumped the turnstile. Today, though, she pulled her MetroCard out of her bad and swiped it with a look of distaste. “You’re dead on your feet, I can’t trust you to look out for me,” she said to his questioning expression.

“I’m not that tired,” he said, defensive, and MJ raised an eyebrow.

“Your aunt is going to take one look at you and hide a Benadryl in your dinner.”

Peter didn’t tell her that it would probably take the whole bottle to have any effect on him what with the whole healing factor thing, but instead he just hiked his backpack up on his shoulders. MJ was walking fast towards their platform, and he rushed to keep up with her. “She gets home later than I do these days. They keep offering her overtime shifts because they're short-staffed.”

“That’s literally abuse,” MJ said, and Peter could tell she was gearing up for one of her rants. He was too tired to stop her, and he didn’t particularly want to, either. She was usually right. “Nurses are treated like shit, they get paid like shit. And they hold up the whole system, do all the hard work…”

Peter lost track of what she was saying as the subway emerged out of the tunnel, accompanied by the usual rush of air and unpleasant squealing sound. MJ climbed on the train first with Peter right on her heels, managing to shove through the crowds of people who were also on their way home so they could stand next to each other, their hands a centimeter apart on the support bar. Peter tried not to think too hard about it.

His stomach growled, and before he knew what he was saying he’d told MJ, “I think I’m gonna get a job.”

“Okay, Mr. Business,” said MJ, looking him up and down, “who’s going to hire you?”

“Well I’ve been thinking since you roped me into taking Art, it might not be the worst thing to try for that photography internship at the paper. The one Ms. Griswell was talking about.”

“Print media is dead.” MJ’s expression softened when she noticed he was actually being serious. “Why do you need a job? You’re already getting less than half the recommended amount of sleep.”

Peter thought about Aunt May cutting coupons at the kitchen table even after pulling twelve hour shifts. “May’s been working a lot since my Uncle died, you know? And I know she’s worried about groceries and how much time I’m spending alone.” Not to mention all the new backpacks she was buying every time he lost one in an alley. “I just think she might worry less if I was making money somewhere after school and not just kicking around the apartment eating all the food.”

MJ leveled a glance at him, unbroken even as the subway car jerked and jostled any unprepared passengers. “First of all, don’t feel bad about eating when you’re hungry. We’re not out here to promote disordered eating habits.”

“But—“ Peter started, but MJ cut him off.

“Don’t interrupt me when I’m trying to help you. What I was _going_ to say is that you should work in the Children’s Reading Room at the library by our house. I’m always taking my little sister there and the librarians are always talking about how they’re understaffed. You could probably just do homework at the desk until someone needs you. Plus,” and this was accompanied by a duck of the head so Peter couldn’t see her face, “my sister likes you, so I assume you’re good with kids.”

Peter, oblivious to the implications of that last statement, thought about it for a second. “Yeah,” he concluded, “that could work. Plus you could leave Ren with me and go, like, vandalize ATMs.”

“I’m against the big banks, not the withdrawal machines,” MJ said, knocking her shoulder against Peter’s, the conversation easy and normal again.

For the rest of the way home they talked about strategies for how Peter might be able to present himself to the library workers. MJ was sure that wearing suspenders and a bow tie would make the best impression. Or, she said she was sure, but Peter had known her for longer than five minutes so he kept pressing for her genuine opinion. They settled on his school clothes (making sure there were no stains on his shirt) and a positive attitude. That, and a few white lies about how much he loved reading and sharing that passion with local children.

Peter said goodbye to MJ at his stoop and headed upstairs, remembering her insistence that he eat when he was hungry and grabbing some slices of cold pizza out of the fridge. He was done with one before he even made it into his bedroom, making quick work of the other two as he set down his backpack and checked Instagram. Ned had said he should make an official Spiderman account, but Peter wasn’t so sure they’d be able to encrypt it so nobody could figure out it belonged to a couple of high schoolers.

The next thing he heard was the apartment door swinging closed and Aunt May calling out, “I brought food!”

Peter could still taste stale pizza crust in his mouth, but his stomach rumbled regardless. His phone was lying facedown on his chest and there was a deep throbbing pain in his neck from falling asleep crunched sideways in his desk chair. “Hi, May,” he managed to croak out

She stuck her head in his doorway, eyebrows drawn down in concern. “Do you feel okay? You sound awful.”

“Accidental”—Peter checked his phone for the time—“four hour nap. Shit.”

“No shit, you have to sound excited,” May said, coming in and laying the back of her hand across his forehead. Her fingers were cool, and Peter leaned into the touch. “I got Indian.”

Peter closed his eyes and May, sensing that something was up, moved her hand into his hair instead, scratching gently. “How spicy?”

“Medium.”

He sighed and shook his head to dislodge May’s hand, hopping up and putting his phone in his back pocket. “Could be worse.”

“Could be better,” May said, teasing. “I’ll go get the chili flakes right now.”

Peter watched his aunt move through the apartment, setting out plates and opening up plastic containers of food so the smell spread through the kitchen and the living room. She was still wearing her scrubs after a day almost twice as long as Peter’s but she was still swaying to the music that came out of her phone’s shitty speaker, something from the ‘70s that she probably listened to in high school.

He waited until they were sitting down and she asked about his day to tell her what he and MJ had come up with: “I’m thinking about getting a job.”

“Oh,” May said, carefully. “What kind of job?”

“Well MJ said they’re looking for someone in the Children’s Reading Room at the library. I thought it would help with money, or whatever. So you wouldn’t have to be so stressed.”

May brushed her hair out of her face as a way to hide the fact that she wanted to tug at it, instead. “Absolutely not.”

“Why?” Peter stabbed at the rice on his plate with his fork. He knew she wouldn’t be wild about the idea, but this wasn’t the reaction he was hoping for.

“Because you’re a teenager and helping with bills isn’t your responsibility.”

He tried a different tactic: “what about being a team? I thought we were supposed to have each other’s backs.”

“Emotionally, Peter. Not like…” May sighed, the deep, heaving kind that meant she was done arguing.

Of course, Peter wasn’t. “What if I promise to only use it for myself? On the sugary expensive stuff? And I’d put the rest of it my savings account, and use the job to learn adult skills like showing up on time and photocopying.”

Peter had thought this would get a laugh out of Aunt May, and he was right. She dropped her head onto her arm for just a second, as if to catch her breath, and then she was back up and pointing her fork at him. “If I ever catch you trying to buy anything for this apartment that isn’t Pop Tarts or Ben & Jerry’s…”

“I’m in trouble, I get it,” Peter responded, grinning. They went back to their food and May finally got to tell her story about the gruesome hacky sack injury she’d dealt with. It was disgusting, and perfect, and Peter rode the wave of contentment for the rest of the night.

The next day found Peter standing in the library, smiling at the woman behind the desk. She was startlingly tall despite the stooped way she stood, and her gray-streaked hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She peered through her glasses as she pushed buttons on the printer, her mouth pulled into a frown as she concentrated.

“Here, let me try,” Peter said, hopping nimbly over the desk and bending over the printer himself. Jill (it was printed on her nametag but she’d seemed genuinely surprised when Peter had used it in conversation) was ecstatic that he’d fixed the thing at last, and she handed over the forms for he and Aunt May to fill out and sign at home.

“One more thing,” she said, although Peter was ready to skip out the door and straight to MJ’s apartment and tell her the plan worked. “You’ll be working in close proximity to children, so the state requires you complete a background check. There’s a chart, somewhere, that says where the nearest places are you can get that checked…” she trailed off and began looking through the many file cabinets behind her.

Peter held up the documents he already had. “No worries, I have everything. I’ll find a place to get that checked and send you the results.”

Jill straightened, tugging the bottom of her cardigan back into place. “Thank you for coming in, young man.”

“Great to meet you too!” Peter said on his way out the door. He couldn’t help staring at the paperwork in his hands, elated.

* * *

Tony, on the other hand, wanted to throw up every time he looked at the mountain of paper in front of him. This was the part of the job he usually hated. The endless stacks of files that built up higher and higher until he pulled himself out of his lab to deal with them, hours of mind-numbing reading and signing and initialing and revising when the agreement wasn’t quite right.

But even that could be endured. Today was one of the worst days of the year, the day that made Tony almost want to quit all of his myriad jobs and buy a farm in Montana: it was Avengers paperwork day.

Everything had been figured out beforehand by lawyers and professionals much smarter than Tony or anyone else on the team. There were plenty of geniuses in their ranks, sure, but their talents ranged more from science to espionage, and didn’t detour anywhere near the legal system and its complexities. That didn’t mean, however, that the team didn’t expect Tony to be on hand to deliver and explain any and all papers they might be signing in order to keep their little operation running.

Ever since Wilson had joined their number, and now Wanda, too, these meetings had gotten even more complicated. And nobody had a clue what they were supposed to do about Vision. Did he have to sign anything? Was he bound by the laws of any country? All of them?

Luckily Stark Industries paid a lot of money for really good lawyers. What it didn’t pay enough for was all the questions people asked him. “For the last time,” Tony said, “I have no idea what that clause means. I have several lawyers you can call and ask that question to- _yes_ , Barton?”

Clint picked up a piece of paper and started folding another dart. “I was just wondering if you’re paying me enough to get my kid a new bike.”

“If you would just read the fucking contract you wouldn’t have to wonder anymore,” Tony said, instantly regretting his choice of words when Nat picked up the stack of papers in front of her and slammed it down again.

“Not all of us have 95 PhD’s.”

“I know you’re just saying that to piss me off, but that’s my point. I don’t have answers for you, I’m just here in a symbolic capacity, to- what _now_?”

Tony whirled around to see Wanda sitting cross legged on a chair next to Clint, trying her best to look like she hadn’t just hit him in the back of the head with yet another paper dart. The charade fell apart quickly, and Clint shrugged. “I’m initiating her into the team like it says in her paperwork.”

“It’s pretty obvious that you haven’t even read the paperwork,” Tony said, but figured anything beyond that would go in one ear and out the other. If Clint was even listening in the first place.

Miraculously, he made it through most of the hard parts, sending each team member one by one up to the legal office with their completed stacks of contracts in hand. After a while, though, it was clear Steve was stalling in an attempt to get Tony alone. It was just him and Natasha left (after the fall of SHIELD she was even more wary about reading everything twice before she signed), but Tony tapped her on the shoulder and jerked his head towards the hallway.

Once it was just Steve left at the conference table, his hands folded neatly on his lap, Tony frowned at him. “What are you waiting for?”

“Who says I’m waiting for something?”

“Me,” Tony said, “or anyone else with eyes. You could’ve been up to legal half an hour ago.”

Steve hesitated for a second before slumping a little in his chair. It was subtle, the change in posture, but it made him look just a little more like a regular guy. Human, not super soldier. “I know what day it was on Tuesday. And I guess I wanted to offer-“

“I’m not in the market for offerings,” Tony said, trying for snark. He was used to that working with Rogers, if only because the confusion rooted in his 1940s sensibilities would stop him from responding in kind. But he must have been getting used to it, because he opened his mouth to keep trying to offer whatever he was offering. Tony tried a different tactic: “I’m not interested in talking about Tuesday.”

Steve frowned, and even that expression looked like it could be on a billboard. Tony wanted to kill him. “I know what it’s like to-“

“Do you hear anyone else trying to talk to me about my son, Rogers? No. You wanna know why? It’s because they respect my personal fucking boundaries and let me deal with my own shit. I’m not doing this with you. Not today, not next year, you got it?” Tony paused, realizing he was stepped closer to Steve, seconds from calling his suit. He forced himself to calm down and act like a businessman. Try on a new suit of armor to protect himself. “Go up to legal, and then go home. I’m not asking.”

Steve did what he was told, but he did it all with an expression of pity on his face that didn’t allow Tony to feel like he’d won a victory. He was still trying to slow his breathing when Natasha came back in to finish up. He was curt with her while she asked him a few questions, sure she’d eavesdropped but also sure that she wouldn’t bring it up. They knew too much about each other, so it was mutually assured destruction.

The minute everyone was gone Tony headed down to the lab, trying desperately to drown Steve’s words out of his head. How could he know what it was like? Tony wasn’t even sure how he felt most of the time, given the years of practice being numb, refusing to answer questions or take interviews that would even come close to discussing Dominic.

It took a few hours, but he managed to do what he’d always done. Think about something else and drown the thoughts out. Everything would go back to normal soon, he knew, and Nico would just be the deep ache in his sternum. Painful, devastating, but bearable. Like he always was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiiii y'all are so nice thank you for responding to the first chapter & i hope you all like this one just as much!! comments&kudos make me lose my mind so would love to hear what you think
> 
> always on tumblr screaming about my boy peter (@emullz on there as well) & if you're looking for a soundtrack the spiderman free roaming ps4 playlist on spotify bops so listen to that while you read:)
> 
> love u bye


	3. chapter three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony has a dream, Peter has a memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> realized this chapter was super short so it's a little sneak peak before the big hefty chapter i'm posting tomorrow!! enjoy the words i wrote
> 
> (Content warnings for this chapter are for an emotional dream sequence on Tony's part that involves abandonment etc. None for Peter's section except slight mentions of alcoholism but only in the most cursory of ways. As always, let me know if I missed anything!!)
> 
> Also, not sure how to address this- I've been getting a few comments that are really negative about Steve, and while y'all are entitled to your own opinions I also want to make it clear that this fic is not meant to contain any hate for Steve's character or really anyone else? So if it came across like I was trying to hate on Cap or make him look bad I really wasn't! And if you don't like Steve that's fine, I just ask that you don't leave any hate for him in the comments. Not blaming anyone or mad at anyone obviously I just wanted to express that ok rant over enjoy the chap

Tony jerked his head up with a gasp, looking around the room frantically for a long moment before he realized what he was looking for, and why everything felt so wrong. This wasn’t his house in Malibu. He was in his lab in the compound, his neck stiff from sleeping on his folded arms, machines whirring around him as they performed their programmed tasks. Dominic had never been in this room, and he probably never would be.

The dream had been vivid. More so than it had been in years. Tony could feel his heart lurch in his chest as he pushed the chair away from the desk, wanting to pace to get away from the thought of it, but he was swept back in before he could start:

_Dominic was crying. It wasn’t like when he was younger and that could mean anything from hungry to bored. No, this was real crying, distressed crying, face scrunched up and little fists rubbing at his eyes while he wailed. He started hiccupping after a while when he realized that Daddy wasn’t going to stop taking his suitcases out of the trunk and take him out of Bridget’s arms, and somehow that was worse._

_Tony handed the suitcases to Happy and turned toward his son. He nodded and Bridget put him down so he could toddle towards his father so fast he was almost out of control, wrapping himself around Tony’s legs and pressing his face into his pants. “Hap,” Tony called, “can you make sure I have a new suit to change into on the plane?”_

_Then he reached down and gripped Dominic under the armpits, lifting him up and holding him close. Tony knew his snot was smearing across the whole of his jacket, but that was why he had Happy getting a replacement out of his luggage. “Deep breaths, Nico,” Tony said into the top of his son’s head. “I’m coming back, just like last time.”_

_Last time had been easier, and Tony regretted thinking that it would stay that way. Now that Dominic knew the plane was taking Tony away for what he called “forever and ever” (but was really only three days), he had Tony’s jacket in his little fists like he could hold him on the tarmac himself._

_Nico hiccupped against his chest and then spoke in Tony’s ear: “you’re coming back, but I’ll already be gone.”_

_Suddenly Tony’s arms were empty and Bridget was carrying his son away. The whole time he was screaming for Tony, somehow growing louder and louder the farther away he got until Tony realized it was because he had his phone pressed to his ear with Rhodey on the other line, saying underneath the screams, “he’s gone. She looked away from him for a second and now Nico’s gone.”_

It wasn’t the screams that woke Tony up, and it wasn’t Rhodey’s voice on the phone, either. It was the feeling in the pit of his stomach that always shocked him into consciousness, gasping for air like he’d been underwater during the whole dream. There was some part of him that knew it wasn’t real, that was enduring it because it meant he got to hold Nico, to listen to him sniffle and breathe in the smell of him even for a moment.

But the dread and the fear of him being gone was more real than any of the rest of it. It hadn’t come on the tarmac, it had come three days later in a conference room, the last meeting before Tony was due to get back on the plane and go home, but the feeling was the same. The phone pressed too hard against his ear, Rhodey’s anguished voice coming through the speaker, the feeling that the entire world had dropped out from under him. That was what shocked Tony awake.

Because Nico hadn’t said goodbye. He’d cried and Bridget had held up his hand in a wave and Tony had said “see you later” to go on some stupid fucking business trip.

The machines kept whirring. Tony slumped back into his chair and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, getting back to work.

* * *

Peter watched his legs swing out into the empty air, one glove tucked under his thigh while he examined his forefinger and thumb. The machine at the fingerprinting site had been down so they’d resorted to old fashioned paper and ink, telling him it might take a little longer to process the background check. He just thought it was cool that he was pressing his fingers into a pad of ink like in an old detective movie. Or, he did until he realized that his stupid fingertips were going to be purple for the foreseeable future.

It didn’t look like the ink interfered with his sticking ability, which was interesting but not unsurprising. Peter still didn’t fully understand his powers; the only things he knew for sure was that he did everything faster and with more precision, and the cost was headaches and always more food. Even the thought of food made him hungry, so he reached into his bag and pulled out a granola bar, lifting his mask up to shove most of it in his mouth with one bite. This, he thought as he chewed, was why he needed a job. He was cleaning out the cabinets every time he went on patrol.

A car honked beneath his feet and Peter pulled his mask all the way off to survey the city that spread out in front of him. Sitting this high up had always made him contemplative like this. New York was his city. He loved Queens with a ferocity he couldn’t imagine having for any other place. There was a small part of him that held out hope he’d been born in New York, but the probability was small when he considered how little he had to go on.

It was probably also down to the fact that it had just been his birthday, that was why he was spending so much time thinking about his birth father. May had been fully transparent with him, telling him everything she knew about him, which only amounted to three facts. Peter’s father was Italian like she was, another reason he’d soaked up however much of the language she could teach him. He was an alcoholic, which was part of the reason he’d given Peter up for adoption and why Peter always had to be careful and make safe choices. And then she always said, “sorry, baby, but they said he wasn’t very tall.”

Those were his three facts. The only three facts there were, he knew, given that his birth mother was out of the picture almost immediately and Peter hadn’t been adopted until he was two.

When Peter was younger he’d ask May to tell him the story of how he was adopted and she would embellish it and make it dramatic to try and match the one he was really searching for. “Your parents went to Canada to do genetics research and when they came back a year later there you were. You travelled up to find them and you came right on home.” He didn’t know if he remembered Canada at all, since he was so little, and because when his parents died it did something funny to the memories he had.

But there was a feeling he had that always came up when he thought about his father, warmth and the grit of sand under his fingers and a voice full of humor chasing after him. That didn’t sound like Canada, and it didn’t sound like New York either. He closed his eyes and tried to bring it up, thinking maybe if he dove deep enough into it he could find something new in the clarity of the night air, but then there was a shout of “hey! Stop!” that had Peter pulling his mask back on and swinging off the rooftop, all thoughts of his parents left behind in the wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiii i hope y'all liked it sorry it was short but ch 4 comes out TOMORROW 
> 
> also thank u SO MUCH for all the nice things you're saying it means a lot. i'm on tumblr (@emullz) so hit me up on there & as always, don't forget to blow kisses to spiderman


	4. chapter four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tony gets the call he's been waiting for

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again everyone and thank you for coming to my ted talk. the topic is why peter parker deserves ten hugs and the runtime is seven hours. i have prepared a powerpoint.
> 
> nah i'm kidding anyways don't think there are any content warnings besides the fact that there's a cop in peter's section and several mentions of the weapons present in such a situation but there's no violence of physical altercations. beyond that as always let me know if there's something to warn y'all about and i'll be happy to do it here!!

Things did go back to normal for Tony over the next week, or at least as normal as they could when you were Tony Stark. He worked on a new visual imaging technology, attended a board meeting, and ate his dinner in the range deemed acceptable by societal norms. So what if he was staying up a little late in the lab and drinking far too much coffee so he slept as little as possible? It seemed like a small price to pay for the rest of it. Unfortunately, the normalcy he was trying to project meant he was stuck in a room with Rogers again, which, if he were to continue to talk about Dominic, could bring the whole charade crashing down. Tony supposed he knew that Rogers meant well, but he wasn't exactly a rational actor in the whole situation, so he gave himself a break.

Luckily, Natasha was briefing them on something to do with Belgium, and she didn’t suffer any side chatting during her presentations. Tony deliberately kept his eyes away from Steve, instead watching Wanda doodle with her fingers on the table in front of her. The red lines she left behind squiggled independent of the way they were drawn, making incomprehensible shapes.

It was because he was so entranced that, for a second, he didn’t hear FRIDAY speaking to him from the intercom: “Boss, you have a phone call from Miranda Smythe.”

Natasha held a hand up to stop Clint, who looked ready to ask who the hell Tony had on emergency bypass that trumped Nat’s meeting. Well, he wouldn’t put it so eloquently—he’d probably ask whether Tony was paying his secretary a living wage, because why else would they let a call come through—but the sentiment still stood.

“Tony,” Nat said, and it was clear in her voice that she knew who Smythe was, and she knew what the call meant.

As much as he wanted to answer it, aching for answers, there was another slightly louder part that wanted to ignore it. He didn’t want to hear the most likely outcome. He’d been preparing himself for years to hear that they’d found his son’s body, that it was over, but when faced with the prospect he found he wasn’t any more ready than he’d ever been. FRIDAY spoke again: “Miranda Smythe is on emergency bypass, would you like me to patch her through?”

“Hang on a second, Fri,” he said. What was he supposed to do? Take the call like it was any other business transaction and then start planning the funeral? How long had he been picturing Nico alive and growing while he’d been lying in the ground somewhere? In the edges of his vision Tony could see Nat shooing everyone out of the room. He fought the instinct to go with them, run away from it all.

“You have to answer it,” Steve said quietly from where he sat, the only one who remained unmoving. Tony, as if in a trance, lifted his phone to his ear.

“FRIDAY, answer call. This is Stark.”

Agent Smythe’s voice hadn’t changed in the years she’d been assigned to Dominic’s case, gruff and businesslike. “Mr. Stark. We have news about Dominic.”

(A body, Tony thought, then God, it’s finally over).

The quiet that sounded after her statement made it clear she had Tony’s attention, so Agent Smythe pressed on: “We got a hit on his prints. He applied for a part time job at a library in Queens.”

Tony felt his knees buckle and he gripped the table in front of him. “Queens?” Tony was in the tower, in Manhattan. And Dominic was a borough over. “Where-?”

“We’re sending agents to his listed address and his school to figure this out,” said Smythe. “It looks like he has a different name and flew under the radar, that’s how we missed him. I promised you a long time ago I would let you know the second we found him, and I’m doing that. But for right now you need to sit tight while we do our jobs.”

“Your job is to tell me where he is _now_ , so I can get him and bring him home,” Tony said. Queens. It was five minutes in the suit. “Don’t bullshit me, Smythe. _Where is he_?”

Natasha must have been waiting for the shift in Tony’s voice because she was in front of him in seconds. “Give me the phone.”

“Romanoff, I swear to God- Tell me where to go, damn it!”

“I don’t know what they’re telling you but you are not in the right headspace to listen, so give me the phone.” Natasha knew better than to pull it away from his ear, but it looked like she was on the verge of trying it.

Smythe was still talking to him on the other line, telling him she couldn’t give out any more information than she already had, and he’d be the first to know anything new she could give out. It was bullshit, it was all bullshit, and Tony was going to make sure everyone in the room knew it. Or at least he was, until Steve looked up from the table in front of him and said, calmly, “FRIDAY, put Agent Smythe on hold. Override protocol Pottsicle.”

“Miranda Smythe is on hold until you release her, Captain Rogers,” FRIDAY said in her infernally calm voice. Tony was starting to regret ever having coded her into existence.

He rounded on Steve. “Put her back on the phone.”

“Tell us what’s going on,” Steve said, still steely calm.

“How the hell did you-? Who gave you an override code?” Tony said, glancing at Nat. But she couldn’t have done it, FRIDAY alerted him the second she got anywhere near the AI’s code.

“Pepper,” Steve responded, and Tony felt a brief flash of appreciation for her choice of the code’s name. It was very brief, however, and then he was back to the all-encompassing anger he was ready to level and both Steve and Natasha. But Steve pressed on: “She’s aware that sometimes you’re not the most rational thinker, and I might need time to bring you back to your senses. So tell me what’s going on, or you’re not getting back on that call.”

Tony gritted his teeth and gave in. “They found Nico. Alive, and healthy, apparently, but they won’t tell me where he is.”

Natasha couldn’t hold in a gasp, and the expression on Steve’s face mirrored the shock she was feeling. Tony had never seen either of them allow surprise to fully overtake their expressions; when you worked in espionage like the both of them had it was good to keep your face a blank slate. It was so startling that it forced Tony to confront the fact that even if Smythe kept him away from Nico for hours, days, weeks, there would be a point where Tony would see his son again. He was allowed to be happy.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t seconds away from calling his suit and flying over the entirety of Queens looking for him, though.

“You have to slow down,” said Steve. Tony opened his mouth to respond but Steve cut him off. “No, you’re going to listen to me this time. I know what it’s like to see someone again after years. You might feel like you haven’t changed at all, but he has, more than you could ever comprehend. There’s a whole life between the two of you that doesn’t erase the second you see him again no matter how much you want it to. So you have to take it slow, and that means no running around in your suit drawing attention to yourself.”

Tony was sure that if he was able to comprehend what Steve was saying, it would have made sense to him. But his head was nothing but a mess of thoughts slipping over one another again and again, each one of them the same: “ _Dominic, Dominic, Dominic_.”

“Boss,” FRIDAY said to Steve’s annoyance, “Miranda Smythe hung up and called back.”

“Answer the call,” Tony said, already holding the phone to his ear. Not holding, no, he was so determined to force a location out of the agent that he was pressing it to the side of his face so hard it ached. “Smythe, I swear to God- “

“We have him in custody now, at his school, and it looks like it’s going to get legally complicated. We’re moving him to a precinct near his apartment within the next half hour while we get in touch with his guardian, and that will be the touchpoint for you as well.”

“Send the details to my number,” Tony said, and then finally pressed his finger into the scanner on his bracelet, calling the suit. He could feel his muscles thrumming with the urge to push off the ground so he could fly over the city, towards the only destination he’d wanted since he got the call from Rhodey fourteen years before. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

He hung up the phone and turned towards the door, where both Rogers and Romanoff waited. They had their hands folded across their chests, like that would make them intimidating. Tony jerked his chin at the door. “You have thirty seconds before my suit blasts through that door. I’d suggest you move before then.”

“Tony, remember what I said-“ Steve started, but Natasha grabbed his arm and yanked him aside.

The door burst open and Tony felt his body jolt backwards as the metal plates coalesced around him. He stared Steve down until the only thing that was left was the faceplate. “I don’t care,” he said, and clicked it into place before he tensed his muscles and flew out the door, a route to the precinct glowing in front of him like a lifeline.

* * *

Peter was in English class when the intercom crackled to life: “Peter Parker, please make your way to the guidance counselor’s office immediately.”

Ned turned to look at him, panic in his eyes, and it took Peter a second to figure out what he was mouthing. _Do they know?_ He was asking, and Peter felt his stomach drop to the floor. What if the school had found out about Spiderman? Had they realized he’d been using extra chemicals during lab time, or caught him on camera doing something suspicious?

But it wasn’t just Ned who was looking at him funny; the whole class had turned towards him the second his name had come through the intercom. Peter gave the whole classroom a shrug and started shoving his books in his backpack. He gave a little wave as he left the classroom and then cringed all the way down the hallway to the counselor’s. Ned had waved back, obviously, but nobody else had. He was going to think about this for weeks.

He hiked his backpack up on his shoulders and turned the corner, stopping short when he saw the principal hovering outside the door. This was bad. If the principal was here, this could be we-know-Peter-is-Spiderman bad. He had to keep walking, though, otherwise it would be even more suspicious.

“Peter,” said Principal Morita, “good. You’re here.”

“Yes sir,” Peter said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “Do you know what this is about?”

Principal Morita turned red. “I think, ah… you should probably wait until you get inside.”

That was not a good answer. It wasn’t “you’re in trouble young man,” but it also wasn’t “this is just an issue with your schedule and everything is fine.” The not knowing was getting to him the most. Peter thought he could convince them the Spiderman thing was okay, if he explained everything, but imagine how colossally stupid it would be if he told them something they didn’t already know, like if they thought he was just friends with Spiderman or something? Ned had started that rumor, hadn’t he? That could definitely be it.

Principal Morita held open the door and Peter walked into the guidance counselor’s office. He’d met Ms. Jennings before, even gone to her a couple times a week after Ben died. He knew what her office was supposed to look like. A uniformed officer was not usually part of the décor. “Um… Ms. Jennings? What’s going on?” Peter squeaked out.

“Nothing you did wrong, Peter,” Ms. Jennings said, and Peter could hear the calm emanating from her voice. She was a good hire. He wanted to turn to Principal Morita and tell him that, but the cop with the literal gun in his belt made it hard for him to contemplate making any sudden moves. “Just have a seat, and we’ll explain everything.”

“What do you mean explain?” Peter asked. Something in the air told him he should keep his backpack on and refuse the chair they were offering him. It wasn’t his Spidey-sense going _danger danger danger_ , not yet, but there was a thrumming in his veins that told him that feeling wasn’t far off. “Why is he here?”

The glance Ms. Jennings threw at the officer made it clear that she was just as uncomfortable with him being here as Peter was. “You remember having your fingerprints taken for a background check, right Peter?”

“Yeah, I got a job at the library.” The implications of that question dawned on him all at once. “Did something come up? I’ve never been arrested or committed a crime, I swear.”

“Nothing like that,” said Ms. Jennings. Now she was looking at Peter with this even, level gaze that made him feel like he was being X-rayed. He cast his eyes around the room, looking at the officer, Principal Morita, even the cheesy pamphlets Ms. Jennings had lined up on her desk with Captain America promoting frequent STI testing. “But they did find something that has people a little concerned, and there are some people who are going to come check up on you.”

She was talking to him like he was a little kid, which made everything worse. “Well what did they find?”

Ms. Jennings folded her fingers on the desk in front of her. “I really wish you would sit down, Peter.”

“I’m fine where I am,” he said, and then kept pressing: “What did they find?”

“We’ve talked about your parents before, and your Aunt and Uncle. You know you were adopted in Canada and brought back to the United States when you were a baby.” Ms. Jennings waited for Peter to nod. “What your fingerprints show us is that the adoption… it might not have been entirely legal.”

Peter let out a deep breath. “Okay, that’s fine then, right? It’s just because it was international, but that’s fine because I was born a US citizen. My biological father is from here, that’s what the agency said, so we can get this sorted out.”

“Peter…” Ms. Jennings was wearing her most professional expression, the one that meant she was going to have to call Aunt May at the end of the session and make some recommendations. “I’m here as an adult who knows you, and my only concerns are your best interests. Those seem to be just telling you what’s going on, all right? Even though there seems to be no easy way to say it.”

She paused, and Peter tightened his grip on his backpack straps. “Okay, yeah. Just tell me.”

“Your fingerprints matched those of a boy who went missing fourteen years ago.” Peter could feel the officer’s body tense up beside him, and his own breathing start to come faster. “Named Dominic Stark.”

Everything froze. Peter knew about Dominic Stark. Everyone did. The missing Stark boy, gone from the supermarket and not found even by the nationwide manhunt bankrolled by his billionaire father-turned-superhero. But that wasn’t Peter, it was ridiculous that they thought it could be! He wasn’t some rich genius’s son, he was a kid from Queens who just wanted a job at the library.

The officer opened his mouth to speak, and Peter knew how loud it was going to be, how much of it he didn’t want to hear, so he finally gave to the feeling in his limbs and ran out the door, heedless of the shouts behind him. He pushed his way through the hallways full of students coming out of class and finally out of the school itself, onto the streets of the city.

Then he did what he did best, and disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading updates on saturdays asking for them faster probably won't get them released any sooner but regardless thank y'all for the comments and kudos they mean so much. find me on tumblr (@emullz there too) and as i say after every chapter BLOW KISSES TO SPIDERMAN
> 
> hope you liked the words, see you in a week with some aunt may focused scenes and peter climbing a tree (ooh spoilers) k bye :)


	5. chapter five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May finds out about the whole scenario and Peter gets some tree hugging in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello happy Saturday:) New chapter & such hope you like it
> 
> (Content warnings include the usual presence of police officers, very small mention of substance abuse at the end of the chapter w/ regards to Tony (like very small but I wanted to put it in here just in case), and I think that's everything! As always let me know if you find something you think should be warned and I'll add it to these notes)

May Parker had felt that morning that something in her life was going to give. She’d lived through her fair share of tragedies and knew that she should listen to her instincts. So when the call came that afternoon from an unknown number, she was ready for it.

She ducked behind the desk at the nurses station and answered, her heart beating hard against her rib cage. “Hello?”

“This is Hannah Abrams, with the Department of Social Services. I’m calling for May Parker.”

“This is she. Can I ask what this is about?”

The voice on the other side of the phone was monotone, giving nothing away. “You're Peter Parker's legal guardian, yes?”

May felt her heart sink in her chest. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine, ma’am. Is that a yes to my question?”

“Yes,” May answered, the response coming on the sigh of relief she let out. “I’ve been his sole guardian for two years, and joint guardian with his late uncle for eight years before that.”

“And what is your relation to his adoptive parents?”

“My husband was Peter’s paternal uncle. We got married when Peter was three. May I ask why you need the answers to these questions?” Knowing Peter was physically all right wasn’t enough to prove the foreboding feeling in her chest wrong. A random call from a social worker was never good. “You should have all this in your files.”

Ms. Abrams spoke as tonelessly as ever as she said, “we do, Ms. Parker. I’m just confirming with you. We recently learned some new information regarding his adoption and I’m just following policy.”

“What new information?”

“I’m sorry, I’m not authorized to tell you any more than I already have.”

May could feel herself getting louder, knowing that people would soon start looking at her as they passed in the hallway. “He’s a minor and I’m his guardian, I have a right to any and all information regarding his upbringing and safety.”

“And while that’s true, ma’am, I’m not authorized to give you any more information than I already have. I’m just calling to clarify some details.”

“So you can’t tell me anything.” May could feel the grip she had on her phone tightening to the point of pain. “Will you connect me to someone who can?”

“For right now I just need a few more answers from you. I’m sure someone else will get in touch with you later to explain things.”

“Fine,” said May, terse.

“To your knowledge, where is Peter right now?”

“At school. He goes to Midtown Science, which I’m sure you already know.”

“And where will he go when school is over?”

“Home. Or some days he has Academic Decathlon for a few hours.”

There was a pause that smacked of judgement. “Are you not aware of where he goes?”

“He’s sixteen,” May snapped. “I trust him to be home by dinner.”

“So there’s mutual trust between the two of you?”

“Yes, there is.”

“You said you married Benjamin Parker when Peter was three. Did you have any contact with him prior to that?”

May paused, thinking back years. She forced the twinge of grief she still felt when thinking about Ben aside. “Mary and Richard were in Canada until the wedding. I spoke to him on the phone a few times, and they sent pictures to Ben every month or so, but I never saw him in person, no.”

“All right, that’s all the information I need. Thank you, Ms. Parker. As I said, someone else should be calling soon.”

The call ended with a click before May could protest. She resisted the urge to scream in frustration and instead said through gritted teeth to one of her colleagues, “something came up with Peter. I need to take a few minutes.”

She ducked into the break room and dialed Morita. He picked up the phone after one ring. “May!” he said, sounding simultaneously harried and relieved. “I was just going to call you –“

“What the hell is going on?” May asked, all the anger she couldn’t ask the social worker coming out in her voice.

“Um…” Morita stalled. “I don’t feel like I should be the one to tell you this. I don’t even know too much about it myself.”

“Morita, I swear to God, if you don’t tell me what’s going on with my child in the next ten seconds I will come to Midtown and make your life hell.”

“Hang on,” he said, background noise invading the call, “let me patch you through to the guidance counselor.”

“Carla,” May said when she heard the other line pick up. “ _Please_ tell me what’s going on.”

Ms. Jennings sighed heavy on the other side of the call. “May, listen. I need you to find a place to sit down, okay?”

May staggered backwards until she felt a chair behind her and collapsed into it. “I’m sitting.”

“They think Peter’s adoption might have been illegal. They’re telling me they found his father, and he never gave his son up in the first place. That Peter was taken.”

“What?” May whispered. There was no way that was true. Richard and Mary would never have done something like that. “No, you must have heard something wrong.” Even as she said it, May realized what had happened with the earlier phone call. Why they had been asking about her and Ben, when they’d met Peter. They didn’t think…

“May, listen to me. I’m not supposed to tell you this, but they were trying to take Peter to the local precinct, and he bolted.”

“What do you mean bolted?”

“I mean he’s gone. We told him what I just told you and he ran, they have no idea where he is.”

May hung up the phone immediately, told the first person she saw that she had a family emergency, and hailed a taxi. The entire way there she was texting Peter, telling him everything was going to be okay, that she just wanted to know he was safe. She tried calling but it went straight to voicemail. She knew that meant he was being smart, in case anyone tried to track his phone, but it still made her chest spasm with fear.

She shoved a wad of cash into the driver’s hand without bothering to count it and leapt out of the cab before it had fully come to a stop at the curb. The police station loomed in front of her, simultaneously innocuous and terrifying for the implication that it brought to Peter and the rest of his life.

May ran through the front doors and into the lobby, and the first thing she heard was a voice roar throughout the station: “You lost him? It took you fourteen years to find him and you _lost him again_?”

She knew who that must be, and what that meant for Peter. The person they thought was his father was waiting in the precinct. There were most likely cops after him, crawling across the immediate city. May had been with Peter for years, and she knew he was damn good at hiding when he wanted to be. She marched up to the front desk and said to the receptionist, “I’m May Parker. I think someone’s gonna want to talk to me.”

The next half hour was torture. They put her in an interrogation room, asked her question after question about how she’d come to “acquire” Peter, what he’d been like when she’d first met him, anything and everything she could remember about Richard and Mary. May kept trying to interject, to tell them that she knew where Peter would go and they had to let her help find him, but they shut her down with well-practiced looks and yet more questions, always more questions.

When they asked her for the third time where Peter liked to go after school, May had finally had enough. “I’ve been trying to tell you this entire time, I know where he goes when he’s upset! And I can take you there.”

“Just tell us where it is,” said the officer who’d clearly been playing good cop. She was younger than her partner, and played earnest well. But May didn’t believe a word out of her mouth.

“If he sees anyone but me, he’ll run, and this time it’ll be somewhere I won’t look. But if you let me talk to him I can get him to come back here.” There was a part of May that wanted to let them look for Peter all over the city and not find him, to prove to them that she was the only one who knew him well enough and that they were incompetent. But that would mean leaving Peter to hide for hours, and she knew she couldn’t handle that either. “Let me find him.”

May found herself in the back of yet another car, this time a police cruiser with uncomfortable plasticky seating and two officers monitoring everything she was doing. They pulled up by the park she directed them to and one of them said, “someone drove by here a half hour ago and didn’t see him.”

“He likes to climb trees,” May said while she climbed out of the car and walked through the park gate. He’d always been a good climber, always liked it in the branches where no one could see him surrounded by the green that was so rare near where they lived. The officers, thank God, stayed in the car and watched May stand at the base of the tree and look up.

Peter was sitting in a branch, settled into a fork with his backpack still on. His eyes were red-rimmed and they went wide when he saw May. “How did you -?”

“I know all your hiding places,” May said, and even though she tried to be funny her voice choked regardless. She swallowed it down and rested a hand on the trunk of the tree, feeling for the grooves of the bark beneath her fingers. “Will you come down?”

“May, they said…” Peter trailed off, wiping his nose on the back of his hand.

“I heard. But baby, it doesn’t matter who your father is. It’s not gonna make me love you any less.”

He was picking at the branch he was sitting on, pulling off bits of bark and shredding them so they fell down on the ground, sounding a bit like rain. “I know that. But they’re saying he’s rich, and important, and what if they take me away from you? I don’t want to go anywhere else, May. I can’t.”

May could feel her heart threatening to split open, but somehow she held it together. “I don’t want you to go anywhere either, but that’s a problem for later. Right now I just need you to come back with me so we can get this sorted out.” Peter hesitated, so May spoke again. “You can’t stay up there forever.”

“I can,” came Peter’s reply, petulant. It reminded May of when he was little and he would pout when they asked him to clean his room or wash his dishes. He’d always been stubborn, always had a keen sense of what was fair. And this wasn’t fair, not at all. May couldn’t blame him for digging his heels in.

That didn’t mean she could leave him in the park. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the bark, feeling the grooves press into her forehead. “Please, Peter.”

There was a long pause, and then, “okay.” The sound of Peter’s feet thudding against the ground was May’s cue to open her eyes and wrap him into a hug, pressing his face into her shoulder. They rocked back and forth on their feet, Peter taking big, shuddering breaths. “I can’t lose you too,” he whispered into her shirt, not knowing if it was loud enough for her to hear.

Peter had run to the park without even thinking about it. He’d used to go on walks there with Ben, because Peter’s Uncle was never happier than when he was strolling along under the trees with his hands in his pockets, thinking about absolutely nothing. Peter had had an issue with attachment, after his parents, and so Ben would take Peter on his walks. Sometimes when he got too tired Ben would give him a piggyback ride and Peter would let his head rest on Ben’s shoulder and feel, finally, safe.

Of course May knew where to find him. Peter knew he didn’t look good but neither did May, with dark circles under her eyes and a frantic look in her eyes that only slightly calmed as she coaxed Peter back onto the ground. They held each other for a long time, and then May tucked him under her arm and they walked back to the car.

The officers were quiet when they slid into the backseat. May asked questions about Peter’s day, how he’d found out, had he had anything to eat, and Peter answered softly, with single-syllable words only. What he didn’t do was let go of May’s hand the entire ride home. He knew he was squeezing too hard and that her knuckles were turning white with the force of it, but he couldn’t stop himself.

They let May stay with Peter when he was led to an interrogation room, and they gave him a stale bag of pretzels as a strange kind of peace offering. Then a woman in a suit with her hair in a severe bun came in and sat in front of the both of them, folding her hands on the table.

“My name is Agent Smythe,” she said. “I’ve been working on your case for quite a few years now.”

Peter blinked.

“It’s nice to meet you,” May said after a long moment. “We really just want to get this sorted out.”

“We want the same thing,” said Agent Smythe robotically. “But I do have to ask you a question first.”

She was looking at Peter, who only responded at May’s prompting: “okay.”

“Your father is waiting outside, and I think you can understand how eager he is to –“

“I don’t want to see him,” Peter said, color rising in his face. He didn’t want to meet the man who was exerting this claim on him, who was quite possibly going to ruin his life and take away his aunt and expect Peter to be something he wasn’t.

But May leaned close to his ear and said, quietly, “you don’t want to at least meet him?”

“But he’s not my dad,” Peter said. “They made a mistake.”

Agent Smythe pressed her lips into a thin line. “I assure you, we have not made a mistake. Tony Stark is your father.”

Peter shook his head, hard, until May reached out with a hand on either side of his face. “Imagine how he feels,” she said, and the expression on her face was so sad it made Peter stop breathing for a second. “Just meet him, okay? And then we can try and sort this out.”

She was right, Peter knew, so he looked at Smythe, his gaze almost a glare. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll talk to him.”

She got up and walked out of the interrogation room, leaving Peter to sit clutching May’s hand, thinking about all the times he’d thought of his birth father. Italian, substance issues, short. Those were the only things he had to go on, and now all the preconceptions that came with the name Tony Stark. How could he reconcile those two images into one person? Into one real person, who was waiting to meet him, who’d been looking for him all this time?

If what they said was true, Peter was about to meet his father. And he wasn’t at all ready for it.

But before he could say something, though, the door swung open, and Peter was staring into the face of Tony Stark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi sorry i know everyone's been hyped about the whole peter/tony reunion but i promise it's happening next chapter! i felt like i couldn't let peter meet tony until he'd at least talked it out with may since she's important to me and also very important to him??? peter & may family feels forever that's all
> 
> next chapter coming in a week! WILL contain reunion:) hopefully it will not let you down


	6. chapter six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the big meeting! is here. also tony and may have a nice little talk so enjoy that

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone my friend erin told me to post this chapter early as a lil treat (her words) so here. is lil treat enjoy chap
> 
> don't think any warnings apply to this chapter other than the fact that they're still in a police station. so if you're sensitive to that kind of content this is a warning (let me know any others i missed, i always want to keep ppl as safe as possible)

Tony had been pacing for what felt like hours. He was surprised he hadn’t worn a groove in the floor of the tiny room they’d stuck him in, that was how many laps he’d taken around the table. Rhodey had come in a little while ago and was sitting in one of the chairs. He radiated a determined calm, a direct counterpoint to Tony’s restlessness.

It was better than how he’d been in the lobby. The rage burning in his chest had become a low simmer in the time since they’d told him Dominic had been found, but he knew no matter how calm he got he wouldn’t apologize for the way he’d behaved.

“Where is my _son_?” he shouted, pounding his fist on the reception desk. The three officer’s they’d sent to try and placate him just started, wide-eyed, as Tony’s repulsors sounded from his closed fists. He would never fire them, but he wasn’t beyond using them as a threat. Not when Nico was hanging in the balance. “I want every person you’ve got on the streets looking for him. And you better let me out, too, because –“

“Sir, I’m sorry, but you have to stay here,” said one of the officers in a trembling voice. Tony was seconds from knocking him over when the sound of another suit startled them all into looking at Rhodey touching down through the glass of the front door. He strode in, eyes locking immediately on Tony as his faceplate came off in his hand.

“Tony,” said Rhodey, and that was enough for him to feel his fists unclench ever so slightly, and his body relax.

“They lost him,” he said, voice breaking, and although they were both encased in metal armor Rhodey enveloped him in a hug anyway.

“They’ll find him.”

“Last time it took fourteen years.”

Rhodey pressed the inside of Tony’s wrist and his armor started retracting, the nanotech compressing down until he was standing without armor. Just a father, waiting, like he’d been for what seemed like an eternity. Rhodey walked him into an interrogation room and talked to him in a soft, soothing voice, repeating platitudes until Tony had calmed down enough to start pacing. And that was where he was, walking and walking and walking, until they came in to say Nico’s aunt (aunt, Tony thought, don’t call her that) had found him, that he was on his way to the station.

Once they had left, still sending nervous looks Tony’s way as though he was going to explode, Rhodey put a hand on Tony’s arm. “Slow down for a second.”

“You sound like Cap,” Tony spat out. “’Take it slow, just give it time.’ That’s my _son_.”

Rhodey tightened his grip around Tony’s arm. “He’s just trying to help. I know it’s hard to think about, but he does know what it’s like to meet someone you love and have a whole life between you.”

“But I don’t have a life,” said Tony. “For fourteen years I’ve been surviving. Waiting for him.”

“That might be true, but _he_ has a life. His whole entire life, Tony.”

Tony dropped into the other chair and put his head in his hands, pressing so hard into his closed eyes he saw spots dance across the black. “I can’t think about it like that.”

“You have to,” Rhodey said, and then silence descended over the pair of them.

Tony didn’t pick his head up out of his hands until a knock sounded at the door. Smythe walked in without waiting for a response. The sight of her stil filled Tony with anger, knowing that even though she’d found his boy she’d also lost him and kept him away from Tony, left him sitting in this room to agonize over every choice he’d made in the past fourteen years.

She didn’t come any further than the doorway. Really she just poked her head in. “Mr. Stark, Peter is willing to see you.”

Tony pushed himself to his feet. “Peter?” Rhodey asked, and Tony could barely hear Smythe’s response over the pounding of his heart in his ears. It didn’t matter what they called him. Tony was going to see his face again.

“He’s just through here,” said Smythe, stepping aside for Tony to go first.

In front of him was nothing but a nondescript door. It could, on a different day, have led him anywhere. It didn’t look like the most important doorway he’d ever walk through, but somehow that made it even more meaningful when he grabbed the handle and pulled.

There was a flash of movement as Tony first took in the interrogation room, almost identical to his own. Someone had gotten up at the noise of the door opening and spun to put their back to the table, nothing but a blur of brown hair and blue sweater before they stopped moving and Tony could get a good look at them.

It was a boy, no older than sixteen. Tony knew logically that it must be Dominic but he couldn’t keep from searching his face hungrily for anything familiar, anything that might link this scared looking teenager to the toddler Tony had waved goodbye to on the tarmac over a decade ago. It was only a second before it all clicked into place. The dark curls, the slope of his nose, the wide brown eyes. “Nico,” Tony breathed.

A flash of confusion crossed the boy’s face and he looked to the woman sitting behind him before he turned back and stuck out his hand. “I’m Peter,” he said. His voice wobbled a bit at the very end and Tony swallowed a sob that was trying to crawl its way out of his throat at the sound.

Tony felt his hands hanging big and dumb at his sides. He held them out in front of himself. “Can I…” he choked out, and when Dominic gave him an almost imperceptible nod Tony took the two steps forward and gathered his son in his arms.

He gave himself five seconds. Five seconds to lose it, to tighten his hold and gather the fabric of Nico’s sweater in his hands. Five seconds to hold him and not feel bad about crying into his hair, or the stiff way he held himself as though this hug was from a stranger. Five seconds, and then no matter how hard it was, Tony would pull away.

After ten seconds, he tore himself away.

Even as he pulled away he couldn’t find it within himself to let go of Nico’s shoulders. They faced each other, Tony just an arm’s length away. But Nico’s eyes were guarded, mistrustful. Tony forced himself to back off and have a seat at the table. The one thing he wouldn’t do was take his eyes off of Dominic. If he had his way, he would never have to do that ever again.

“Hi,” he said, stupid, but he couldn’t even be mad at himself. There was no room for it.

Dominic’s eyebrows drew together, confused. “Hi,” he responded, and then, “look, Mr. Stark –“

“Tony.” He’d said it too fast and probably a little too loud, but hearing that name had been like a punch to the chest. “Please, just- Don’t call me Mr. Stark.”

“Okay then, um, Tony. I guess I just want to… when can we get this cleared up?”

Tony took a second to process the question, and when that still wasn’t enough he flat out asked: “What?”

“This is a big misunderstanding,” said Nico, and there was a thin string of hope running through his voice. “I’m sorry, Mr. – Tony. I really am. But I can’t be who you think I am.”

Tony was finally startled enough to take in the rest of the room. Mostly who was there, a young looking agent in a blazer identical to Smythe’s, Smythe herself, and a dark-haired woman who must have been the phony aunt. Dominic was sitting at the edge of his seat, his body language obviously skewed towards the aunt. For the first time, what Steve had said was able to sink in—the kid was terrified.

Luckily, Smythe stepped in. “Peter, I know this is hard to accept, but we’ve confirmed it. Not only with your fingerprints but with policework as well. We have agents looking into your adoption papers and under close scrutiny they fall apart.”

Dominic’s eyes closed and he took a deep breath, letting the air out in a hiss through his nose. “Okay, fine. Until there’s evidence otherwise we deal with this.” Now he turned to Tony, fixed him with a stare. “If you’re my dad, you’re supposed to want the best for me, right?”

Tony couldn’t speak. His throat had closed the moment Nico had said dad. He forced a nod.

“Then let me keep living my life.”

“ _Peter_ ,” said the aunt, horrified, but the words had already been spoken. Besides, was he wrong? The aunt took a more diplomatic approach: “It’s complicated.”

“It shouldn’t be,” said Dominic. He was looking from Smythe to Tony, something Tony realized with a sick sense of horror meanth that he was a part of the designated enemy. “I’m sixteen. Don’t I get some kind of say in where I end up?”

Smythe cleared her throat. “We do take your opinion into account. However, because your Aunt May’s status is simply as your legal guardian, your biological father takes precedence. And these circumstances are… unusual.”

Dominic’s full attention was on Smythe now. “I don’t even know him. Why should I have to ruin my life?”

Both agents in the room began to bluster, saying everything and nothing all at the same time. Tony watched Nico, addicted to seeing him react to information, even if it was with frustration. His boy, alive to be angry and scared and hurt. Eventually Nico cut them off, though, saying, “when can I go home?”

“With Ms. Parker?”

“With my _Aunt May_.”

“Not until this is sorted out.”

So he rounded on Tony. “Tell them. Tell them it’s okay for me to go home.”

Tony didn’t now what to do. So he did exactly the wrong thing: “Nico, I –“

“My name is not Nico!”

“Peter,” said the aunt again, this time with a gentleness to her voice that stopped Peter in his tracks. “You have to talk to your advocate, right? And the psychologist. Then we’ll figure everything out.” Dominic turned to her, reached across the table so she was holding his hand. “It’s going to be okay, baby. I promise.”

Smythe jumped at the sudden calm, heading straight for the door to bark orders at whichever poor idiot she caught in the hallway. Nico went with her reluctantly when she called for him, clearly still angry at anyone and everyone. Tony knew what that felt like, and it was making him ache to think that he caused it.

But he had no idea how to fix it. The last time he’d had to comfort Nico, all it had taken was applesauce and snuggles. Now? Now there was an expert sitting in the room with him who was better at speaking to his son than he would probably ever be, and Tony couldn’t hate her. Not for loving Nico.

He turned to look at her. “May, right?”

“Yes,” she answered, cautious.

“Can I ask you a question?”

She didn’t say yes, but she did shift in her seat so she could listen to him better. As much as Tony was trying to dislike her, he was finding it harder and harder by the second. He looked at her kind eyes, and the patience she was radiating, and he couldn’t help but think of how she’d calmed Dominic down. Found him when he’d run away. “What do I do?”

She cocked her head ever so slightly to the side. “What do you mean?”

“This is the best case scenario. For years I thought about…” Tony shook his head as though that would rid him of all the nights spent picturing Dominic returned to him in the most horrific ways possible. “But he’s safe, and healthy, and it’s obvious that he loves you. That he’s been loved. I can’t explain what it means to know that he’d been looked after for so long. Except the only way to get him back means I have to hurt him.”

“Look,” said May, tapping her fingers on the table. Unlike Pepper her nails were clipped short, efficient and practical. Not worse, just different. “I’m biased. I’m probably the worst person to ask, because I know how great it is getting to raise him. But something I’ve learned, definitely the hard way, is that parenting is just letting go. I got to do it slowly, inch by inch, and you have to do it all at once. I can’t imagine how hard that is.”

Tony thought about the two years he’d gotten to spend with Nico. How he’d been scared to leave him in his crib at night, scared to let him walk around the house. He’d had as much help as he could possibly want – nannies, housekeepers, Rhodey. And still everything terrified him. The end of every day was a miracle. If he’d gotten to stay with his son he would have had to send him to school, let him walk home alone, and, oh _God_ , be on the internet unsupervised. He’d barely gotten as far as letting Nico pick out his own shirts.

May must have been able to see something in his eyes, because she reached out and patted his hand. It reassured Tony, brought him back into himself. “I wouldn’t blame you if you fought for him,” she said. “I think I would want to hold him close too. But you might lose him in the process.”

Tony thought for a moment about what it would be like to agonize over May Parker’s words. Eventually he decided not to. He had more burning questions he wanted to ask, like, “what’s he like?”

May couldn’t keep the smile from spreading across her face. “He’s kind. I think that’s the first thing anyone would say about him. And he’s funny. My God, some of the things he says… There’s nothing as incredible or as baffling as that boy’s brain, that’s what I’m always telling him. He builds computers out of trash he finds on the street and he sticks up for everyone, but one time he walked home from school without his shoes and he has no idea how to tell the girl he walks home with that he likes her. I’m not even sure _he_ knows he does, yet.”

Tony made a noise that was half laugh and half sob. “I was talking on his birthday about how he used to line his stuffed animals up every night, always in a different order so none of them would feel bad. He had this speech he would do, about –“

“Protecting them from bad dreams?” May interrupted. Tony nodded, stunned. “He did that until he was about eleven, I think. He whispered so no one would hear because he thought he was too old, but Ben and I would stand by the door and listen.”

“I heard about your husband,” said Tony, and then he wanted to kick himself for saying it. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Luckily May just gave him a sad smile. “We got through it,” she said, and then her eyes lit up. “One time, it was so funny, Ben and I made a chore chart to get him to start helping around the apartment. It was just little things, like taking out the trash and sweeping after dinner, but he had all his stuffed animals go on strike with him to protest. Apparently it was unfair that we were making him do work we weren’t paying him for. That was a big fight, I remember getting the silent treatment for days.”

And Tony smiled too, because he knew that stubbornness, that keen sense of right and wrong. Their stories had different stuffed animals, but it was the same boy. No matter who he grew up with, or what name he answered to.

“I want to get to know him,” Tony said, and he knew, at the beginning, that was all he could hope for. “I want to get to know Peter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe ok this is early :) by 5 hours i feel so cool
> 
> hope u enjoyed feel free to comment/kudos/find me on tumblr k love u bye

**Author's Note:**

> hi thank you for reading hope you enjoyed this here fanfiction
> 
> this is mostly because peter parker is all i think about & i am ultimately writing it because i need to read it but i would love to hear from y'all in the comments!!!! comments&kudos make me 🥺🥺 so if you choose to leave either a big old thank you from me to you. and if you're like me and scared any time a fic is incomplete know i have this whole thing outlined (for the first time in my whole life) so one way or another you'll figure out what happens to our boy
> 
> come freak out with me about peter parker on tumblr i'm @emullz on there as well and again THANK YOU FOR READING💕


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